


Insidious Seduction

by tanwenmc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dark, Dom/sub, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Fade Sex, Master/Slave, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Porn With Plot, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Trespasser, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-13 12:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/pseuds/tanwenmc
Summary: Shaeri Trevelyan drank from the Well of Sorrows, and in doing so, bound herself to something ancient and powerful. It isn't until after the events of the Exalted Council, after learning the truth about her one-time lover Solas, that she comes to fully understand the consequences of that action - and she isn't the only one who will have to live with those consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the first time this fic has been on Ao3. Previously, it was under my main account, and I eventually decided to start posting my darkfic/mind control works under a completely different name -- this one. I am only now getting around to reposting it.
> 
> Originally posted at the Dragon Age Kink Meme, this has actually undergone some substantial editing since then.
> 
> The scope of the story widens at about Chapter 5. Up until then, it's mostly shameless mind control porn.

Shaeri Trevelyan is trying to hold onto herself.

It is the first thought she has when she wakes in the morning, and it plagues her throughout the day - especially when Solas has left her alone. She cannot decide whether to be grateful for being out of his attention or offended that he is treating her so casually. There is a third emotion, one that is creeping in much faster than she would like, one that she does her best not to think about whenever possible. A yearning for Solas that goes deep in her soul, a driving need to be with him at all times. Shaeri Trevelyan, who has always been fierce and independent and beholden to _no one_ , finds this prospect utterly terrifying.

When she can remember that she is scared of it.

She remembers her journal on the days that she is left alone. Kept in a hollowed-out section of the wall, it is her most prized possession - the only thing that is truly hers. She is not certain that Solas does not know of it. He seems to know many things about what happens when she is alone. She shudders to think on the day where she spent time weeping for Cullen, for everything that had happened between them - mage and Templar, Inquisitor and Commander. When she had wrung herself out, Solas had appeared, taking advantage of her drained state to … take advantage of her. In many other ways. In _every_ other way.

The other truth that is burned into her soul, that is constant no matter what else happens, is that the apostate elf she once loved has been consumed by something ancient and merciless. The days where she yearns for him, she also worships him, worships his power and glory.

Shaeri shudders and clutches at her journal before opening it to a random page. The words are written in her handwriting, but she has no memory of writing it - no recollection of the deliberate act it was for her to put this memory to paper.

Her journal is not in any sort of order - not one that Shaeri would have accepted, in other days. Better days. She begins to read the page.

_The day that I drank from the Well of Sorrows, before the final battle with Corypheus._

Many entries begin like that, a short statement to describe what happened - to orient Shaeri with her own past.

She hates Solas for that. That … and many other things.

* * *

“You cannot,” Solas says, reaching out a hand to grab her arm, a second after her declaration that she (and not Morrigan) would take the power from the Well of Sorrows.

“And who are you to tell me what I cannot do?” Shaeri asks, glaring at him. They are lovers, true, and they have made no secret of this - but he has never done anything like this before, questioned her decision in front of everyone else. Attempted to _forbid_ her something.

Solas is annoyed. “I only meant -“ He shakes his head, and then drops his voice. “Vhenan, I beg you - do not do this.”

Shaeri was not expecting that. He sounds as tender as he does when they are alone together in her room. “Why?” she asks.

“We … cannot be certain of what this will do.” She is certain that he is choosing his words carefully, though she has no idea why.

“Corypheus wants it. Therefore, it is something powerful, that is better controlled by us than a mysterious apostate working towards her own goals.” She knows she has offended him as soon as the words are out of her mouth. She thinks she understands why, but the disgust on his face is much stronger than she would have expected.

“And we mysterious apostates are not to be trusted by the great and wise Circle mages,” Solas says bitterly. Now she wants to take it back, to let Morrigan have the blasted power, because it really isn’t worth driving a wedge between herself and Solas. He is the best lover she has ever had, and she finds him easy to talk to. He calls her vhenan, and she knows what that means, what it signifies.

But she is not just Shaeri, she is the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste.

“I will take the power,” she repeats, and feels a gulf open between the two of them where none previously existed.

* * *

_I couldn’t say the words. I couldn’t admit that I loved him. Would it have made a difference? Could I have kept him with me? Could I have stopped this?_

“Could I have stopped this?” Another constant of her journal entries that feature Solas. Could she have prevented him from starting down the path that will mean the end of her world?

She knows what the Well does, now. Much better than she did when Flemeth first explained it. It is the thing that binds her to Solas, makes her mind and body and soul into playthings for him. For Fen’Harel. It is easier to think of him as Fen’Harel when he is actively pulling the strings around her - strings that she allowed to be tied around herself, strings that he has reinforced and added to and made into a cage that binds her.

If her door were left open, if no guards stood between her and the edge of this fortress, somewhere deep in the maze of Eluvians, Shaeri still could not leave.

Another thing that she needs to remember to be terrified about.

Shaeri hears footsteps coming down the hall. _His_ footsteps. She quickly shoves her journal back into its hiding spot, putting the section of wall back and hiding it behind a plush chair so soft that she has fallen asleep on it convinced it was a cloud. Everything in her suite is lush and luxurious - only the best for the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the -

Her thoughts grind to a halt as she sees Solas enter. Her body responds to his presence in an instinctive, elegant gesture. Shaeri falls to her knees in front of him and feels warmth begin to radiate from her entire body. Fen’Harel is here. Her Master is here.

He trails a hand down her face, his answering smile beneficent and approving. “There she is,” he says, and his voice makes her shiver. “My devoted slave.”

“Yes Master,” she breathes, face still upturned, eyes still locked onto his gaze.

“Show me how much you missed me,” he says. Shaeri gasps as he follows the words with a caress of power, a tug on that direct connection between them. Thoughts and emotions flood her as though it had been her mind that prompted them. _loveserveworship…_

Her mind blanks completely, and her next conscious thought comes when she feels her tongue swirl around the tip of his erection, tastes the salt and thickness of the liquid that comes from her Master’s cock. Shaeri feels giddiness threaten to overtake her, that she can bring such pleasure to Fen’Harel. Her, and only her. She knows that to be true. He swore it, that even though she had been unfaithful to him he had remained completely faithful to her …

_Cullen._

The name fades as quickly as it had come and Shaeri is lost in her Master. She feels some of his magic keeping her hands pinned behind her back so that she may not touch herself - or him. He wants her attention to be fully on the task of worshipping his cock. And right now, Shaeri is only too glad to do so.

She feels his hand on her chin and takes him deeper into her mouth, as she knows he wants. She begins to suck, and his low moan sends a shiver of delight through her. She knows that her own juices are leaking onto the floor, that her own need will go unmet until his is done. She does not mind. It is her duty to serve her Master Fen’Harel however he wishes, and her pleasure. He has made certain that both of those things are true.

Shaeri is startled when he pulls his cock out of her mouth while it is still hard. “M-master?” she says, her voice trembling. “Have I done something -“

Before she can finish the sentence Fen’Harel has pinned her to the floor and is sliding himself inside of her. Shaeri cries out and clutches at him, whimpering softly in pleasure and encouragement. “How easily tamed you are,” he breathes. “A single thrust, and you are undone.”

Shaeri can only whimper in reply.

“It is a sign,” he says, continuing to move. His words start to come in ragged gasps. “A sign - of how all - your people - will fall - before _me_.” On the last word, he spends himself, and Shaeri is swept away in a tide of ecstasy.


	2. Chapter 2

_Cullen._

Her mind returns to the name after Fen’Harel has put her to bed, tucking her in as though she were a child. For several hours (at least) she lies there in a half-dream, half-waking state, a contented pleasure humming through her veins. Sometimes, he reminds her that this state is his gift to her, a reward for performing her duties as his slave. He tells her how lucky she is that he gives pleasure back to her. She is never in any condition to do anything other than lie there and bask in those feelings.

_Cullen._

Shaeri Trevelyan struggles to hold onto that name, to remember why it is important. Why Cullen is important to her. When she feels steady enough, she climbs out from beneath the soft and fluffy comforter to go back to the chair and dig out her journal. She sits cross-legged in the chair and flips through the pages until she finds the entry that will explain things.

 _The first night I spent with Cullen. Six months after_ and here there are words scratched out, rendered illegible by rough pen marks. The sentence finishes with _Corypheus’ defeat._

Shaeri thinks she knows what she once wrote there but lets the thought slide away from her like water as she reads the entry.

* * *

Cullen approaches her with a soft reverence when they are both naked in her quarters. His touch is gentle, lingering, tinged with an air of wonder - as though he cannot believe this is happening. Shaeri wonders how long it has been for him. How long since he was intimate with a woman he cared for.

That he cares for her has been obvious to Shaeri for - for -

 _Some time. It does not matter how long_.

Shaeri returns the caresses, touches the stubble on his chin, enjoying the rough sensation of it. She traces his face as though trying to memorize it - the strong, hard features, not soft and angular like -

She will not think of him.

The comparisons have been trickling in ever since Cullen undressed. How broad his shoulders are, how much muscle he carries. His thick hair and stubble. The way that he touches her, the way that he is seeming to seek permission before daring anything too bold. Solas never waited for permission.

She will _not_ think of him.

Shaeri turns around and kisses Cullen, making it both request and permission. Her tongue slides into his mouth and begins a dance with his. Cullen’s hands come to rest on her shoulders, his grip tightening enough to hold her in place. He has accepted her invitation and she feels her stomach lurch at the excitement - at the thought of what is to come. Shaeri deepens the kiss, brings one of her hands up to tangle in his silky blonde hair. There is no space between her bodies and she feels the pressure of his increasing erection.

This pleases her greatly, and she shows it by dropping her free hand down to cup his thickening shaft. Cullen breaks the kiss, gasping, his head thrown back as he lets out a low moan. Shaeri feels the heat between her thighs increase, but she forces herself to keep her touch light, so as not to speed things up too much. It seems wrong, somehow.

Cullen takes the decision away from her when he kisses her again, his mouth hard and demanding. His hands slide down to her hips and behind to caress her rear, keeping their bodies pressed together. Shaeri wants to lose herself in it as he is clearly doing, but one of them needs to make sure that they make it to the bed.

Shaeri breaks the kiss and gives him a coy smile, lifting her hand up as she backs towards her bed, crooking a finger at him. Cullen follows eagerly, almost tripping over himself as he lies down. Shaeri presses both hands against his chest and swings her leg over so that she is straddling him, then shifts forward to take him inside her.

Cullen’s back arches and he lets out another low moan. Shaeri rocks her hips forward slowly, enjoying the feeling of his thick cock brushing against her sensitive walls. Another moan from Cullen, a hitch of breath, as she settles into a rhythm. Her hands continue to move, caressing, tangling in his chest hair. It is actually a selfish act - she has always found his voice to be sexy, and hearing his deep moans is nearly as satisfying as the feel of him inside her.

“Maker,” he breathes, and Shaeri redoubles her efforts, because if he can talk, he is not far gone enough for what she wants of him. Her hands stop their roaming and press down for additional leverage instead as she starts to fuck him _hard_. When he moans again, it is answered with one of her own. She feels her climax building and allows herself to be lost in it, allows her world to diminish to the heat inside her, the intimacy of a body against hers, the pleasure that a hard cock inside of her brings.

_You wanted it raw, and hard, and you wanted to be hoarse from screaming when it is over._

She will not. Think. Of -

_Solas._

Cullen moans loudly, hips thrusting upwards more rapidly than before, hands digging into her sides, and she falls over the edge a second later. She clings to the illusion that it was Cullen’s movements that caused her to climax. It will certainly seem that way to him.

When he is done - when they are both done - he smiles up at her with a tenderness that threatens to break her heart. She returns the smile despite her creeping guilt. She will not allow Solas to taint this. He _left_ her and she has every right to seek happiness elsewhere.

The comparison comes again in the morning, when Cullen kisses her awake before dawn so that he can return to his own quarters. Solas had never left in such a manner. Her quarters were also his.

This time Shaeri allows the comparison to come, because suppressing all thoughts of Solas will not help her get over him. Allowing herself to be consumed by Cullen will not work either - she risks losing herself, that way. She must find a way to build a partnership with him. Something new, something that strengthens both of them.

It seems an impossible task, but she is the Inquisitor, and impossible tasks are her bread and butter.

* * *

_It was working. We were happy together. It was working, until the Exalted Council._

Until Solas came back into her life. Until he changed her life, again.

At the bottom of the page is a single line, in rough handwriting. _Cullen loves me._ As though this is a separate concept that she needs to be reminded of.

Shaeri has brought out the pen stashed along with the journal. She puts the pen to the page after that single line and tries to write the logical conclusion to that sentence, to her journal entry. Tries to write down that she loves Cullen.

The ink blots the page in an uneven pattern as her hand shakes. Shaeri puts it down and takes a handful of deep breaths. If she says it aloud, first, perhaps that will help.

But she cannot do it. “I love -“ and there she stops, feels herself shaking again. “Templar, Knight-Commander, Commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” she says. “I love -“

Had she? Had she ever loved him? Or was he just a substitute, a poor imitation of the man she truly loved?

It takes her some time to realize that the thought is not entirely hers. Solas - Fen’Harel - has been conditioning her. It takes an effort to remember that, to think of it as conditioning and not something more pleasurable.

Shaeri forces herself to think that she had cared for Cullen, at least, since she cannot reach the concept of love. That she had respected and admired him, for -

An image floods her mind, one of her standing in front of Cullen’s desk wearing a see-through gown. She is smiling wickedly at him, coy and enticing. She is a wicked temptress, brazen and shameless in her attempts to bend men to her will through sex. Cullen’s eyes are practically bulging out of his head as he stammers words that she cannot understand. Shaeri ignores the words as unimportant and sits on his lap, leaning in to kiss his neck. “You want me,” she whispers to him. “You desire me above all others.”

_I want Fen’Harel. I desire Fen’Harel above all others._

The image of Cullen fades and Shaeri comes back to herself. The journal and pen have fallen to the floor and her fingers have found her way to her cunt.

“I belong to Fen’Harel,” she says aloud, and feels a surge of pleasure at the words. Yes. She has to do this. She has been wicked, bad, in thinking of someone other than her Master. “I am his devoted slave.”

Shaeri’s head tilts back against the chair as she shifts to make herself more comfortable, give her fingers more access to her cunt. She has the sensation of having done this before, having worked herself up with thoughts of Fen’Harel. To cement her obedience to him, her desire to please him in all things. She remembers what it feels like to be in his presence. She remembers him manipulating the ties that bind her to him to heighten her pleasure without laying so much as a finger on her. Shaeri basks in his reflected glory, in the memory of what he can (and has) done to her.

Her trembling fingers finally find their way to her clit and she works at it frantically. Shaeri moans, her breath hitching. Dim memories suggest that she should be climaxing right now, but she is still uncomfortably on the edge. Waiting for something that she cannot consciously reach.

So she lets herself unconsciously reach it. She is not thinking, she is wholly focused on the act of pleasuring herself. But this, too, is a gift from Fen’Harel, the ability to evoke these feelings in herself. And like all such gifts, it comes with a price.

Shaeri does not think the words. She does not decide to recite them, as she suddenly feels she has done countless times before. They simply begin to pour out of her.

“I serve Fen’Harel. I worship Fen’Harel. Fen’Harel owns me. Fen’Harel controls me. I want to be owned. I want to be controlled. I live only to serve him. I live only to do his will.” She is biting her lip. She has to finish her litany, but her body knows how close she is, and is demanding release.

Release is not hers to give. It is Fen’Harel’s.

“I love Fen’Harel. I love his power and glory and wish only to worship and obey him. Fen’Harel loves me. Fen’Harel prizes me above all others for being his devoted slave.”

One more, just … one …

“ _This is what I wanted, from the very beginning. I always wanted him to make me into his slave._ ”

Shaeri screams as her climax breaks, her back arching as she puts pressure on her hand. Fingers are a poor substitute for her Master’s cock, but they must suffice. Every time she does this, it makes her a better slave, more devoted to her Master, and when she is wholly devoted to him, she will be permitted to be by his side always. The thought makes her shiver in the aftermath of her intense climax. She wishes her body was more resilient so that she could start again, hasten the process, but she is only human.

Not like him. She remembers times where he has done something similar to her, pushed her until she screamed and begged. And after he had given her time to recover, he had started all over again.

She wishes that he were here, now, to see how good she is being for him.

But her body betrays that desire and drags her into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Shaeri wakes, she looks at her fingers - still coated in her own juices - and wants to cry.

She has been pleasuring herself to thoughts of _him_ , again, but she does not remember it. Her throat is hoarse and she knows that she was shouting something to bring herself to climax, but she cannot recall them.

She gets to her feet, shakily, and heads towards her bathroom to clean up. Her hands are trembling as she washes them.

Her hands.

Shaeri lifts her left hand, the one that held the Anchor for so long, and sees - nothing. No green glow. No crack in her skin. The Anchor is gone.

Solas removed it, obviously, but how?

Knowing that it will hurt, she tries to search her memory for the day that she saw him again, after two years. After she defeated the saarebas, when she went to deal with the viddasala. She remembers saying through gritted teeth that _she_ would be the one to kill Solas, and then -

Pain. Searing, crushing pain in her completely unblemished hand. A memory of pain should not hurt this much, but it brings her to her knees. She takes deep breaths to drive it away and wipes the tears from her eyes.

Shaeri rushes back to find the journal where she had dropped it before. She runs through the pages. It is a thick journal, and only about half-filled. There is no account of that event. There are her memories of the battle, of leaving Dorian and Bull and Cole and going forward alone. There is an account of what happened when she returned to face the Exalted Council for the final time, the pages on that entry worn and tear-stained. Perhaps there is a clue there.

* * *

She disbands the Inquisition. Makes a roaring speech about how its time has come and gone, how she will follow in the first Inquisition’s footsteps and take a step back.

She feels Solas’ power - Mythal’s power - like invisible threads around her as she speaks. They are her words, but the decision was his. She sees Teagan, the Ferelden representative, nodding approvingly. She feels Vivienne’s - Divine Victoria’s - eyes on her.

And she knows this part is her imagination, but she swears she can feel confusion from her advisers. Because she told them all that she wanted to continue, that she wanted to keep the Inquisition going. That she felt like she had a place and a purpose and a duty to continue to bring order and be a champion for all the ideals the Inquisition has come to embody.

“And what will you do, now?” Duke Cyril asks.

“I will journey to the Dales and assist with reconstruction,” Shaeri’s mouth says. “I will devote myself to the welfare of the Dalish people and become their champion.”

Everyone in the room begins talking, some louder than others. She notices Cullen trying to catch her eye. She ignores him.

“For too long the Dalish have been marginalized,” her mouth continues. “For too long they have been oppressed. I will work with Ambassador Briala to resettle the Dalish who have been displaced by these recent troubles, and assist other clans with journeying back to their home should they wish it.”

“A noble calling,” Cyril says. “I am sure that Her Majesty will support you in this.”

“I am glad to hear it, Duke Cyril.” She turns to Josephine. “Lady Montilyet, if you would be so good as to finalize the details for the Inquisition’s disbanding?”

“Of - of course,” Josephine stutters. She is confused, but she will do her job. Shaeri has always admired that.

Shaeri Trevelyan curtsies to everyone and takes her leave. She wants to run before she has to answer too many questions about this strange turn of events, but her body is simply walking at a smooth pace towards her rooms. Once there, she bars the door and flies into a frenzy, packing only the essentials into a light bag. She knows that her next step is to go to Briala. She has a memory of the passageways that will take her there. She will not have to go out into the corridors and face people again, and she wants to weep for relief. Better not to have to face any of them, especially -

“Shaeri, I know you’re in there.”

_Cullen._

Shaeri stops what she is doing, frozen in place. Her body wants her to keep moving and ignore the distraction. But her mind, her soul - they want her to unbar the door and confess all to Cullen. Shaeri Trevelyan is no one’s damsel in distress but if ever there was a time to let someone else take care of a problem, it is now.

Of course, the part of her that makes her body start moving again does not see being under Solas’ complete control as a problem.

“Shaeri, please,” Cullen says. “I need to talk to you. I need to know - what is going on? Why did you do that? Why are you going to the Dales?”

She has to tell him something. It will break her heart if she leaves without a word to him. Not to mention what it will do to him.

“Please open the door, Shaeri - my lady - please, I need to see you.”

Her bag is packed, and she is almost at the secret door, when she somehow manages to force words out. “Dalish curse,” she says.

“What?”

If she doesn’t think - if she just speaks - “Dread wolf take you.” She pauses, and then thinks of Solas, and the excitement and the feelings that come with it. “I love you.”

Cullen will think that is for him, and that is the last thing she can do before her legs take her to the hidden passage.

* * *

There is more to that entry, that last day at Halamshiral, but Shaeri has to put the journal away lest she add more tear stains to the pages. She wants to be able to keep reading this page, this memory. She traces the words she spoke to Cullen with a gentle finger. _I love you._ She meant it, then. It is wrong that thinking of Solas was the only way to tell Cullen that she loved him, but at least he heard it from her, before she vanished from his life.

The way Solas vanished from hers.

Cullen did not deserve to be abandoned any more than she herself had, and Shaeri wonders how he is faring. She holds to the idea that her words about the Dread Wolf will have given them the clue to her disappearance. Dorian and Bull and Cole know that Solas is an agent of Fen’Harel - they were there with her when the viddasala revealed that fact. She has to believe that Dorian will not have accepted her plans, that he will be among those wondering what has happened to her. Searching for her.

She cannot escape, so she will have to be rescued, and she has already done all she can to make that happen.

Shaeri _hates_ waiting. Another thing to curse Fen’Harel - _Solas_ for. She must keep thinking of him as Solas. The words _Fen’Harel is my Master_ come far too easily to her mind, so she must continue to think of him as Solas, to avoid being consumed. Remade into a creature of his will.

She knows she is already very far gone in that process, and shivers, then puts that thought out of her mind. She must hold onto herself. She needs the connection with who she was before. It will give her strength to fight this. To hold out long enough for the others to find her.

She wipes the tears from her eyes, takes several deep breaths, and resumes reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Shaeri keeps running once inside the hidden passageways of Halamshiral despite the uneven ground. Her body knows exactly the turns to take, knows which door to stop in front of and open up.

Briala is there waiting for her, a bewildered expression on her face. “Mythal bless me, he was right,” the elf - the power behind Empress Celene - says. “He does have you.”

Shaeri drops her eyes to the floor in a small act of rebellion. She is not being prompted to interact with Briala, so she will not.

“It is not complete, yet,” Solas says, and the words set her body on fire. Before she knows what is happening she is dropping to the floor in front of him, head bowed, body quivering. “I am only able to do this much because of the power of the Anchor. When I took it back into me, it made her an open book.”

Pain. Pain that starts in her hand and runs down to her elbow. Her arm is on fire and the pain is spreading and -

Solas murmurs words to her, touches her hand, and the pain fades. The gratitude she feels at that is genuine, and she is ashamed and furious at herself for feeling _anything_ positive towards that utter bastard at the moment.

“I thought you could not remove the Anchor,” Briala says.

“Only because she took the power from the Well of Sorrows,” Solas replies. “When she bound herself to Mythal - when I took Mythal’s power - it gave me an opening that I had not possessed before.” He chuckles. “And I have spent the past two years restoring my power, as you well know.”

“So how am I to address you?” Briala asks. “As Solas, as Fen’Harel, or perhaps Mythal?”

“Fen’Harel will do. I believe I am done with being Solas. It was a useful identity, but its time has passed.”

“As you say, Fen’Harel,” Briala says. “How long will she remain open to you?”

“Long enough for me to place a few more bindings, which will give me all the time I need to make her utterly mine.” Solas places a hand under her chin, tilts it up. Shaeri does her best to radiate defiance. “Ah. I believe a preview of your future is in order, vhenan.”

Shaeri feels his power wrap around her like a caress, invisible hands stroking her and making her feel so _good_. She looks into his eyes and knows that she gazes upon the face of her Master. A smile spreads across her lips and words pour out. “I live to serve you, Master.”

“And you love and worship only me,” her Master says.

“Yes,” Shaeri agrees readily. Her body is growing warmer by the second.

“You love and worship Fen’Harel.”

“Yes, Master.” The heat is increasing between her thighs.

“You will obey my every word.”

“Yes.” She feels wetness start to trickle into her smalls.

“You will never try to hurt me. You will never try to leave.”

“Never, Master.” Hurt him? Leave his side? How could he think she would ever do such horrid things?

“Remember this, vhenan,” Fen’Harel says. “Remember how good I can make you feel. You want this. You want to be bound to me.”

He lets out a long breath. His power fades, and she can think of him as Solas once more. Shaeri stares at him for a long moment, fury building inside her, and then she lunges for him.

Before she can close the distance, she trips herself and falls flat on her face. Shaeri is even more furious, now, because she is never that clumsy. She gets to her knees and tries to strike at him with her magic instead. The ball of fire hits the wall next to him instead.

 _You will never try to hurt me._ His words come back to her, their fire mixing with the lyrium running through her veins.

Shaeri is almost certain this will be a futile gesture, but she must try. She gets to her feet and bolts for the door she entered by, but freezes in place before it. She cannot make herself move to open it.

“You see how useless it is,” Solas says. “It is inevitable that you will kneel before me. You might save yourself some pain and allow it to happen.”

“Never,” Shaeri says, feeling sick - and, she realizes, still aroused. Just the sound of his voice makes her want to turn and run to him, permit him to take her and use her as he has done before.

If she had not loved him, she would have more strength to resist. But she did. And no magic is needed to conjure memories of their time together, how happy she was with him.

Solas shakes his head in regret. “I fear she will need some time before she can be seen in public with you, Briala. That can be easily explained by the travel time to the Dales.” He chuckles. “It is not as though such things can be instantaneous.”

Briala smiles briefly before her expression turns thoughtful. “There will be questions. From the Council, and those who have traveled with her.”

“I am confident that you can handle such questions,” Solas says. “You will have whatever assistance you need, but this task is yours to handle.”

“As you say, Fen’Harel,” Briala says, inclining her head slightly.

“It is time for us to leave,” Solas says. “ _Follow._ ”

Shaeri feels his power wrapping around her once more. She tries to fight it, to halt in place, but her legs are carrying her forward, a half-pace behind him, and she follows him through the Eluvian.

* * *

The entry ends, and Shaeri realizes that the events that happened once they had reached his stronghold - once she had seen this room for the first time - are still clear in her memory. She has never written them down, but she can still conjure them up.

She pushes the memory away. If she wishes to feel that, she has only to wait for Fen’Harel - _Solas, you have to think of him as Solas_ \- to visit her again.

As though her thoughts can conjure him, she hears his footsteps, and shoves the journal back in its hole, covers her tracks. This time, she makes herself go to the far side of the room from the door. He will not find her waiting for him by the door like an eager mabari. Shaeri Trevelyan survived the Anchor, survived Corypheus and all his servants. She will survive this.

Solas enters her room and looks around. She does not move from her hiding place. He frowns, and Shaeri feels his power reach for her, wrapping her in silk, caressing every inch of her body …

Shaeri moans aloud, and then he is standing next to her, his frown deepening. He shakes his head sadly. “I had thought we were past this, vhenan,” he says. “I see that I will need to be strict with you today.”

Shaeri feels Solas start to tug on the strings around her, but instead of flooding her with arousal as she is expecting, he simply brings her to her feet and holds her body still. She is confused, for a moment, and then she thinks she knows what is coming. She would almost prefer the arousal to -

Solas holds her gaze with his own, and as always she feels a curious lightening of her body, as though her mind is detaching from it. Her stomach does a flip as Solas’ eyes glow green.

“Sleep,” he says. Shaeri feels the command overcome her, waves battering against her as she succumbs.

She has the sensation of falling to the ground without the pain associated with such a fall, and looks up. She is in the rotunda at Skyhold, walls covered in Solas’ murals. It is exactly as she remembers it - quite possibly because Solas keeps bringing her here whenever he feels she needs a stricter lesson.

This time, she does not run to test the wards. They are always in the same place, creating an area that Solas can play in while keeping out unwanted guests. But keeping them out does not mean they are not there, watching, and that is one of the worst parts of these little trips.

Shaeri feels a flare of magic and knows that Solas -

_Fen’Harel._

The conditioning is stronger here, as is Solas’ power.

Shaeri grits her teeth, clenches her fists. “Solas,” she whispers.

 _Fen’Harel,_ her mind responds.

“Solas,” she insists, louder this time, not caring that he will hear.

_Fen’Har-_

**_Master._ **

Both her conditioning and Fen’Harel’s power burn that word, that fact, into Shaeri Trevelyan’s entire body. An exquisite mixture of arousal and pain fills her, brings her to her knees. The mixture is a sign of how torn she is, how much she is fighting his power. She refuses to acknowledge that her surrender is inevitable, as always.

She feels Fen’Harel’s heat before his hands close over her breasts, the image of her dress vanishing in a second to allow him instant access. He massages gently, and she lets out a moan as her resistance begins to fade. Of course he is her Master. His power cannot be denied, and she is being foolish in resisting his gifts -

_They are not gifts. They are a poison and I will not give in._

“But you have already done so, vhenan,” Fen’Harel says gently. “You have already accepted my gifts, and there is no escaping them now.” He bends down and kisses her tenderly, and she melts, leans into the kiss, relaxes enough to let his power wash over her fully. The pain fades and she is filled with a glowing contentment, all thoughts fading away as her body responds to her Master.

Shaeri makes a sound of protest when her Master backs away, which turns into a snarl when his influence fades and her emotions are her own once more. Her heart is pounding and she wants (oh, how much she wants) to drag him back over and make him finish what he started, but she will not give him the satisfaction.

“You are being quite stubborn today,” Fen’Harel says, and shakes his head. “Very well, then.”

All at once she is wrapped in a blanket of magic that lifts her off the ground, suspending her in the air. The blanket divides into small tendrils, like hundreds of fingers running across her skin at once. She feels each one of them, touching her like feathers, the combined effect more electrifying than it should be. She is being kissed on her neck and having her feet massaged, hands running up her spine and across her breasts - all at the same time. The worst part is that Fen’Harel is not pulling the strings to make her aroused. Her mind and her emotions are without his immediate influence but she is still giving him the result he wants, gasping and writhing with each touch. She cannot help it.

The sensation fades for a moment without letting her move an inch, then redoubles. Her legs are spread apart and the tendrils touch her inner thighs, stroking that sensitive area without actually touching her cunt. The first time he did this, she was in more of a position to appreciate the skill in that. Now, she is ashamed of how quickly she becomes aroused to a fever pitch. Or would be, if she was currently capable of thinking.

Fen’Harel is overloading her mind and body with sensation. She cannot fully appreciate the intense massaging her breasts are getting without ignoring the way a tendril is brushing the edge of her chin - and either one by itself would be pleasant enough to focus on. Those, and a hundred other things all happening at once. Her gasps are louder, her moans starting to sound frantic.

Fen’Harel’s footsteps seem to echo loudly as he moves closer to her. Shaeri is permitted to look down at him, breathing heavily. With an air of indifference, he places a finger in her cunt.

She is nearly overcome by that single gesture. Arousal spikes in her, giving her mind a chance to refocus on that lone finger tracing lazy patterns on her walls. “Let me cum,” she manages to spit out. “Maker damn you, So- Fen’Harel. Let me cum.”

“Your Maker cannot hear you,” Fen’Harel says calmly, and adds a second finger. Shaeri cries out, her head whipping back as she takes heavy gulps of air. Oh, Maker, but this feels so good. Fen’Harel knows her inside and out by this point, knows exactly where to put pressure to make her whimper and moan. She wants to cum, as badly as she has ever wanted anything in her life.

“Please,” she says.

“Please, what?” Fen’Harel replies, still unnaturally calm. His two fingers find and encircle her clit and she begins to pant. There. _There_. Theretherethere…

“Please let me cum,” she gasps. “Please, please, I need this, I need to cum.”

Fen’Harel’s fingers pause for a moment, as though he is considering her request. “No. Not yet.”

When the fingers withdraw she tries to curse him again, but all that comes out is a whimper. She has only a moment of respite before Fen’Harel’s tongue slides into the gap his fingers left. Shaeri moans, and feels her body pressing against his mouth.

 _Very good, vhenan._ The words join the blanket of power still around her, boosting her sense of utter contentment. _See how much pleasure I bring you? See the feelings that I can evoke in you?_

There is but a small part of Shaeri that is capable of thinking, and it is saying things like _yes please more need more need you…_

 _And who am I, vhenan? Who am I to you?_ His tongue is flicking against her clit erratically, bringing uneven bursts of pleasure.

The walls she has been holding up against him crack and burst away and she begins babbling. “Master. You are Master. Please, Master, I need you, please, I need to cum, please, please…”

_You are my slave. You belong to me utterly. You will do as you are told._

“Yes, Master, always,” Shaeri promises. “Your slave worships you. Wants you. Needs you. Please, Master, please.”

 _Such obedience and devotion deserves a reward._ Master withdraws his tongue and she quivers with anticipation. She knows that he wants to watch her, that he enjoys watching her like this.

“Cum for me,” he says, and the limits on her body’s ability to respond vanish. Shaeri moans loudly as her climax crashes over her. She arches her back, writhing in the invisible bonds still holding her in the air. Pleasure fills her with a sustaining intensity, keeping her mind completely blank while her body basks in sensation.

 _You are mine, vhenan._ The words sink into her soul, layering upon those he has already put there. _Mine utterly, mine always. You love and worship me._

“I love and worship you,” Shaeri mumbles, her mouth barely able to form the words.

_You desire only to serve and obey._

“I will serve and obey.” She moans as he touches her, slides his hands up her thighs.

“Continue, my beloved,” Master says gently. “You know the words.”

Shaeri’s litany bubbles up inside her. She is almost giddy with her desire to show Master how devoted she is to him. “I serve Fen’Harel. I worship Fen’Harel. Fen’Harel owns me. Fen’Harel controls me. I want to be owned. I want to be controlled. I live only to serve him. I live only to do his will.” In her nearly exhausted state, the words come out in a monotone. “I love Fen’Harel. I love his power and glory and wish only to worship and obey him. Fen’Harel loves me. Fen’Harel prizes me above all others for being his devoted slave.”

“Yes, he does,” Master says, caressing her breasts. “Almost finished, vhenan."

“I always wanted to be Master’s slave,” Shaeri says, and with those words she feels herself drifting down to the ground. Master pulls her into his arms and kisses her gently. She clings to him and returns the kiss with as much feeling as she is able to conjure up. Her bones are jelly and she is being supported only by his strength, but she does not mind. She could stay like this forever.

“Ah, vhenan,” Master says when he breaks the kiss. He is still holding her up in his arms. “So stubborn. So fiery. I know that you would not be yourself without it, but then -“ he chuckles wryly. “I only want you to be yourself some of the time. When I need to take you out and parade the Inquisitor around.” He strokes her hair. “I admit that I take some pleasure in watching you struggle and fail, in seeing that moment where your resistance breaks and you become my creature in all things.”

Shaeri whimpers softly and buries her head against her Master’s chest.

“Now it is time for you to prove the truth of your words, and serve me,” Master says. He puts a hand under her chin and tilts her head up to meet her gaze. Shaeri feels a small, silly smile spreading across her face at this sign of his regard for her. “For you have aroused me with your moans, your declaration of utter devotion and obedience, and a good slave always tends to her Master’s needs.”

“Yes Master,” Shaeri breathes, and does not so much kneel as fall towards the ground and prevent herself from collapsing at the last minute.

“Would that I could fuck you properly, vhenan,” he says, gloriously naked before her, his fully erect cock bobbing enticingly. Shaeri eagerly fastens her lips around it, moaning softly at the pleasure of being permitted to serve. “But I fear your poor mortal body could not take it, so we will both have to be content with this.” He lays a hand on top of her head. “And believe me, I will be _quite_ content with this.”

Shaeri does not think the words _yes Master_ so much as feel a general sense of agreement and eagerness. Her mind detaches, enjoying the contentment that her Master has permitted her to have, while her mouth works on his cock. She is not able to apply any skill or deliberate act, as she sometimes will with him, but simply sucks repeatedly. She can barely hear Master’s moans over the sounds of pleasure she is making herself, but she knows that he is enjoying himself. He has told her, repeatedly, how much he enjoys having her do this. It is one of the things she can remember, even when so many other things fall away in her Master’s presence.

“You are closer now, vhenan,” Master tells her. “Closer to becoming mine in all things. Each time I take you - ah! - to that edge, that point before you break - you allow me a little more of yourself. It is only a matter of time before you are entirely mine.”

In the state she is in, Shaeri cannot imagine _not_ wanting to be his in all things. In all ways. But she is not expected to give an answer. She is expected to suck. Which she is quite happy to do.

Her Master keeps talking, telling her how much he enjoys her obedience, but the words never quite register. There is only her mouth moving, the heat she feels from him, the sweet taste of his seed filling her mouth as he cries out, a hand holding her head in place, forcing her to accept it all.

A duty she is only too happy to perform for her Master.

When he is done, when she has served him as best as she is able, he helps her to stand and wraps her in his arms before taking them out of the Fade. Her Master puts her to bed, once more, murmuring endearments to her before exiting her room and leaving her to drowse contentedly.


	5. Chapter 5

As Solas and Shaeri vanish from the Fade, Cullen Rutherford wipes the bile from his mouth and takes several shaky breaths. He whips his head around to glare at Cole. “Why did you bring me here?” he demands. “Why did you make me watch - that?” There are no obscenities vile enough, no curse strong enough to express the hatred he feels for Solas right now.

“Because she is not happy,” Cole replies, seemingly unfazed by Cullen’s anger. “He thinks he makes her happy, but it’s an illusion. When she is herself, she is sad, and she weeps for you.”

“Herself,” Cullen repeats. “When he’s not -“ He stops, shakes his head. To say the words aloud, to justify them with rational thoughts, is almost as much of an obscenity as what he has just witnessed. “Maker, I thought I knew what had happened to her, but I didn’t know the half of it.”

“Yes. You had to know.” Cole’s unearthly eyes bore into Cullen’s skull, and he suddenly feels a greater presence around them - as though they have been joined by an invisible crowd. “He has bound her too tightly to escape. She has to be rescued. You had to be prepared for what you will find. If you weren’t prepared, you would fail.”

“But did I have to _watch?_ ” Cullen asks, feeling fury rise in him. 

“You might not have believed it otherwise.” Cole sounds sad. “He is not who he once was.”

“Is that why you’re helping me, and not him?” Cullen asks.

“There is no compassion in what he does,” Cole responds, and Cullen feels the sense of <i>presence</i> around them grow stronger. He looks around them, and now he can see forms - distinct human forms, blurry around the edges, but still recognizable as … people.

“Nor any honor,” a tall spirit in full Templar armor says.

“His actions are not valorous,” another armored spirit adds.

“He is trying to break her faith, and that of many others,” says an elderly woman in Circle robes. She is startlingly familiar, and Cullen struggles to place her.

“The future he seeks is not a just one,” a third armored spirit says, sounding mournful. “There has been enough injustice perpetrated. She was trying to fix it.”

“To give purpose.” A stout man wearing a blacksmith’s apron and carrying tools.

“To spread wisdom.” An elderly man with glasses and a book under his arm.

“To bring hope,” says a small boy with short hair, his eyes bright as he looks up at Cullen. “She was bringing hope.”

“We dare not interfere with Fen’Harel’s plans,” the elderly female mage says. “If we do, we risk being corrupted. Some already have been. So it falls to the mortals to act.”

Cullen knows her, now. “Wynne,” he whispers.

The spirit holding Wynne’s form smiles. “You always were a clever one, Cullen Rutherford,” she says. “I am glad that you found happiness at last."

“You have always done your duty,” says another female spirit. Her hair is short and she is wearing armor, though of no kind that Cullen can immediately identify - impossibly smooth, with an air of density despite her ethereal nature. She is a puzzle that he does not have the time (or, truthfully, the inclination) to figure out.

“They helped me bring you here,” Cole says. “So that you could see. See what he has become.”

“He knows we watch,” the blacksmith says. “We are drawn to strong emotions. But he keeps us away.”

“He does not know you were here,” the boy says. “We made sure of that.”

“I -“ Cullen takes a deep breath. “You are more … coherent … than the spirits I have seen before.”

“We are many,” the armored female spirit says. “But we cannot hold for long.” She looks at Cole. “You must take him back.”

“You are doing good out there,” Wynne says to Cole, and he smiles like a boy receiving praise from his favorite grandmother.

“Speak to Merrill. She can help with the Eluvians,” the spirit who had spoken of a just future says.

“You must take him back,” the blacksmith repeats. “It is not safe to stay here much longer.”

Cole nods, and meets Cullen’s gaze. “You have to wake up now.”

Blackness, and falling, and then Cullen sits upright in his bed. The sudden movement causes Maric to whine, shift, and then lay his head back down with an indignant huff. Cullen rubs behind the mabari’s ears. “Sorry, boy.”

“He is a good dog,” Cole says, appearing from nowhere as he always does. Maric gives a soft whine of agreement.

“That was real, wasn’t it?” Cullen asks quietly.

“As real as anything.”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen is quiet, petting Maric to calm his racing thoughts. After a moment he sighs and slides out from under the covers, resigning himself to going without sleep. It will not be the first time he has done something like this, and he does not want to think about what dreams the Fade might give him. Not tonight. Not with what he has just seen.

For six months Cullen has tried not to give into despair - taken her erratic public appearances in the Dales as proof that Solas wants to keep her alive. What remains of the Inquisition has been wholly devoted to discovering Solas’ plans, and trying to figure out where Shaeri is and what Solas wants from her.

Both of which Cullen now knows.

He turns to Cole, and tries to keep the anger out of his voice. “Why didn’t you show me that sooner?”

Cole hangs his head. “It took time to plan it. Time to gather that many spirits, to test the extent of Solas’ wards. I felt her pain that whole time. I wish it had been sooner.”

Cullen is ashamed, and he sighs. “I understand, Cole. I’m sorry.”

“You are hurting,” Cole says. “You want her to return. I want her to return.”

Cullen sighs again and resumes scratching Maric behind the ears. “The Eluvians are the key,” he says. “We haven’t dared use them because they are under Solas’ control, but it is clear now that it is the only way to strike at him. The only way which might stand a chance of getting Shaeri back. But how do we know where to go? How do we know which path to follow?”

“They will help you,” Cole says. “The archivists. The ones who remember.”

“You’re sure they can be trusted?” Cullen asks.

“Even more wisdom will be lost if he succeeds,” Cole replies sadly. “They want to preserve knowledge.”

Cullen looks over at the strange young man, and for a shameful amount of time he considers whether Cole can be trusted. Then he shakes his head, blaming it on his unease over what he has just seen. He walks over to his desk, glancing out the window to note that he still has a few hours before sunrise.

He will speak to Varric, first, and see if Merrill can be located. The dwarf has been consistently putting off a return to Kirkwall, much to his Seneschal’s dismay. He will also speak to Morrigan, if she is still at Skyhold - she comes and goes on her own schedule, her son constantly by her side. He will ask Leliana what news her spies in Solas’ organization have. All of those who went volunteered, and were recruited after Solas left Skyhold, to make them harder for Solas to detect. He will ask Fiona (the former Grand Enchanter now eschewing all titles) what loyal mages can be spared.

The Inquisition is a shadow of its former self, thanks to the Exalted Council and Solas’ manipulation of Shaeri, but there is still enough power to get things accomplished. To get _this_ accomplished. They will find a way to bring her back. Cullen will find a way to rescue her.

They have to, or else there will be no one left to stand up to Fen’Harel.


	6. Chapter 6

Shaeri is left alone for a time after her latest trip to the Fade. Fen’Harel tends to do that, to give the lesson time to sink in. His words and actions seem to have a greater power in the Fade, the magic that redirects her thoughts and causes the mere thought of him to bring arousal lingering longer than usual.

It takes Shaeri some time to work up the willpower to find her journal once more. She is finding it to be more important than ever, reminding her she did once have a life outside of this room. She reads the entries that detail her life growing up on the Trevelyan estate. The first time she manifested magic. Arriving at the Ostwick Circle. Her Harrowing and how her life changed after it. Her teachers and friends at the Circle.

She has just finished one of those entries and is paging through the journal idly when her eye stops on an entry. The furthest entry, followed only by blank pages. Shaeri reads the first line.

_The first day that --_

The next word has been crossed out, and another one written above it -- which is also crossed out, and the line of words written and obscured extends to the top of the page. Omitting the series of crossed words, the line reads: _The first day that he visited me after he brought me here._

Shaeri does not want to read this entry. It is an entry she should have never written, because she does not need any extra reminders of that day. Of the first time that he demonstrated the subtlety of his power, the insidious seduction he has been waging against her ever since. But her eyes are glued to the page. She cannot make herself turn it, cannot make herself put the book down and stop reading. Instead she feels a compulsion to keep reading, a compulsion that brings dread with it.

* * *

Shaeri is decidedly unnerved by the rooms she finds herself in.

It would be one thing if they were a copy of her rooms at Skyhold. That would signify a creepy obsession, which would make it easier for her to hate Solas. Instead, this space is a new creation. The furnishings, hangings, and clothing are all exactly to her taste, but they are not replicas of anything that Solas has seen her use.

Save for the bottle of her favorite lilac scent on the right-hand side of her vanity.

The rooms remind her more of those at Trevelyan, which should be more unnerving, but Shaeri’s mind is a bit too logical for that. She knows that her parents’ influence has followed her throughout her life, even though she has not seen them in several years. It makes sense that Solas, in creating a space for her, would have made one that could have been designed by her mother.

She has adequate time to explore everything -- the wardrobe, the washing area, the bed and the sitting area - before Solas comes to see her.

When the door opens, Shaeri curses herself for not being quick enough to dash over and dart out. She remembers that he instructed her not to leave, but perhaps she can push that boundary. It will have to be another time, though, because Solas has already closed the door behind him and locked it, and she does not think that he will permit her to get anywhere near an exit.

“How are you, vhenan?” he asks, and Shaeri wants to believe that the rush of warmth that comes at seeing him, hearing his voice, watching his smile, is from the magic he has used to bind her. She knows that it is probably not the case.

“You clearly put a lot of thought into these rooms,” Shaeri says, not quite answering the question. “How long have you been planning this?”

Solas smiles. “In some ways, since the day I left Skyhold.” He takes a step closer to her. “I never intended to be parted from you forever, vhenan. I suppose part of what happened afterwards is my fault, for not making that clear to you.”

“What does that mean?” Shaeri asks defensively.

“I mean your decision to pursue Commander Cullen,” Solas says, still very calm. “Remember, vhenan, I know how strong your sexual desires can be. It is logical that you would have sought someone else, thinking me gone forever. You are too wanton a creature to be content with fingers and imitations.”

Shaeri is torn between indignation and desire as he steps up to her, laying a hand against her cheek. She is breathing heavily in the presence of her onetime lover, her body reacting to his. No, there is no magic involved here. Solas did not use any magic to make her love him, to influence her into pursuing him. She remembers how he resisted at first. And now he is wooing her with soft words and gentle touches, trying to bring their old relationship back.

Shaeri takes a step back and tries to shove that desire back. “Yes, I did pursue Cullen,” she says. “And we are happy together. I love him.”

“Do you?” Solas asks, almost philosophically. “When he is so different from me, in the ways that matter to you most?”

“He is loyal,” Shaeri says, stubbornly. “He is kind, and generous, and --"

“Oh, vhenan,” Solas interrupts her, shaking his head sadly. “That is not what matters to you most. If it was, you would have pursued him from the start. But you chose me first. You came to me, practically begging me to take and use your body roughly. You knelt before me willingly, servicing me with your clever mouth as an incentive for me to fuck you in the ways that you always desired.”

“People change,” Shaeri retorts, ignoring the flare of color in her cheeks at his words. “Is it wrong to think that after you _abandoned me_ , I might have prized loyalty and kindness more?”

“And you never took that approach with him,” Solas continues, as though she had not spoken. “You never knelt before him, never begged for him to be rough with you. You took the lead, dictated the terms, because you knew that he would never step up and be the dominant personality you craved. Your own actions would have to satisfy your need for dominance. Of course, they didn’t. Not in the way that I could.” He smiles wolfishly, and Shaeri remembers that he named himself Fen’Harel. “Not in the way that I will.”

“I won’t let you--" Shaeri begins, and then gasps as she feels her body wrapped in invisible bonds. She sputters, trying to get her bearing, testing the bonds with her own magic -- feeling her stomach sink when she realizes she cannot possibly break them.

“It is not a matter of ‘let’, vhenan, it is a matter of will. Mine, in fact.” Solas walks around behind her, lays his hands on her hips. “You will learn that my will is the one that matters now. That yours no longer has a place here. You have seen for yourself how powerful I am now. How much stronger than before. I gave you a preview of my power at Halamshiral, if you have forgotten that so easily. I used that power to have you kneel before me and acknowledge me as your master. And one day -- soon or distant, it does not really matter --" He moves his hands up to her breasts, begins to caress them, runs his fingers across her hardening nipples. “One day, vhenan, I will not need to use any power to make you do that. You will do it willingly, happily, and be mine entirely.”

The prospect horrifies Shaeri. “What happened to you?” she demands. “What happened in these past two years to make you so --  _evil_?”

Solas chuckles. “Not evil, vhenan, simply quite determined. And it was not these past two years that made me so.” He leans in and kisses her neck gently, flicking his tongue against her skin. Shaeri gasps despite herself, tilts her head back to allow him better access. Solas moves down to her collarbone and sucks gently for a few seconds before removing his head. “I have always been this way. I may have chosen not to express it so strongly during our time together, but I am choosing to do so now. To show you my full power. To show you that I _am_ Fen’Harel, close enough to a god that the distinction does not matter.” His fingers are only lightly brushing across her nipples now, the slightest of touches -- the only contact between them, but it makes her shiver. “And because I love you, because you are my heart, I am being gentle with you. Allowing you the chance to thoroughly enjoy what is to come, instead of merely forcing it upon you.”

Shaeri is fighting with everything she has to keep her mind sharp, to keep her wits about her and not simply surrender to the feelings Solas is evoking in her. “I won’t do it,” she says, injecting as much conviction into her voice as she can manage. “I won’t be your plaything, just a toy for you.”

“But that isn’t what I want, vhenan.” Solas presses himself up against her, and her body lights on fire. “I can see where you would have gotten that impression. I do want your complete obedience and devotion, yes. But watching you as Inquisitor has shown me that you have so much more to give me.”

“So -- what is it -- that you …” Shaeri stops, gasping as Solas places both hands on her breasts, putting pressure on that sensitive part of her body.

“When you are ready to hear it, I will tell you.” Shaeri feels a finger of magic reaching from Solas to her, connecting with the ties that bound her to Mythal’s will. She is flooded with _feeling_ , with a strong sense of warmth and delight that edges straight into utter bliss. A part of her is sure that she has never felt this good in her life, that every sexual experience she has had before this day is as dust compared to what Solas can do.

What he is about to do.

“This is not how I wanted our reunion to go,” Solas says, almost sadly. “And that is my fault. Fortunately for both of us … I also have the means to fix that.”

“Solas,” she murmurs, eyes closed, lips parted to let a soft sigh out.

“When you feel this way, you are open to me,” Solas says. “Open … receptive … _willing._ ”

“Yes,” she agrees, because she can feel that his words are true. That anything he tells her right now will resonate, become truth if it is not already, stay with her even when the memory of this day fades.

“Think back to those first few weeks after I left,” Solas continues. “How lonely you were. How much you ached for me to return.”

Those memories have also carried a burning anger in them - _how dare he abandon me_ \- but the anger is somehow unimportant now, almost as though it is not even there. Shaeri feels those emotions swelling up inside her. She remembers standing on her balcony, gazing out and wondering if Solas is anywhere in the distance. She remembers eagerly pouncing on Leliana’s reports in case there was any sighting of him. Remembers using the magic that he taught to her with a tinge of sadness, regret, that he is not there to see her do it so well.

“Let those emotions fill you,” Solas continues. “Let the present fall away. You will forget that any more time has passed. It has only been a few weeks. You miss and ache for me still.”

“I miss you, Solas,” Shaeri whispers. She is lost in the illusion that he is creating, aware of his presence next to her, but somehow disconnecting it from his words.

“Nothing matters but that you focus on those feelings,” Solas says. “Nothing matters but your longing for me. Your desire to see me return.”

Shaeri gasps as the emotions intensify. She has spent the past few weeks desperately missing Solas - hating herself for the weakness, the moping about, but feeling helpless to push the feelings away. What has he done to her, that she should be so affected? He is only one man…

“Let the present fall away. Only your feelings matter. Only your feelings for me.”

She must have changed the furnishings in her bedroom recently. Yes, that is what happened. She wanted something different, to diminish the ache of memory. The fact that she cannot remember having done that is unimportant.

“I am all you can think about. All you want."

“Solas,” she says again. “Why did you leave?”

“I am here now.”

Shaeri Trevelyan turns to see Solas standing there, and her heart leaps with joy. She runs over to him and flings herself into his arms, burying her head against his shoulder. His heart is beating as loudly as her own is, and she clings tightly to him, afraid that he will vanish again.

“No anger,” he reminds her. “Only happiness.”

The words seem a bit odd, for a moment, and then the moment has passed. Shaeri lifts her head and kisses him hungrily, a sweet rightness flooding her body. This is where she belongs. This is where she has always belonged.

Shaeri eventually has to break the kiss to ease the ache in her lungs, and she places both hands on the side of Solas’ face. “Don’t do that again,” she says, trying to sound firm, but knowing there is a quaver in her voice. “Don’t you _ever_ leave me again.”

“I swear to you that I will not,” Solas says, and she believes him - feels the words resonate with her, the truth of them vibrating in her soul. She sees the love and need in his face and knows that it matches her own.

“I have missed you,” she whispers, closing her eyes, dropping her hands and resting her head against his chest again.

“And I, you,” Solas says gently. He strokes her hair, letting his fingers tangle in it for a second. “Would you show me how much, vhenan?” he asks, a more playful tone than she has heard from him in a while.

Shaeri feels her body grow hot as she realizes what he wants. She turns her head to gaze into his face, feeling a sly smile beginning as she makes up her mind. “There is nothing I want more,” she says, and drops to her knees.

Her fingers have not forgotten how to undo his belt ( _it is finer than the one he left in)_ and she is soon presented with his erect cock. She loves seeing it, loves seeing this very tangible display of his feelings for her. She knows that she is the only one that can affect him in this way -- the only one that he has permitted to affect him in this way.

Shaeri caresses it with her fingertips, lightly, enjoying the motions as his cock jumps. She hears a sigh, and a moan, and cannot help but answer it with one of her own.

_You want to feel it in your mouth._

The thought is somewhat odd, as though it comes from outside her -- but it is so close to her own that she lets the incongruity pass. Again. A part of her is noting that there are certain incongruities piling up, but that part is easily silenced as Shaeri closes her lips around Solas’ erection.

_This is where you should be._

Shaeri agrees wholeheartedly with that statement. There are few things in life she takes more pleasure in than sucking Solas off.

_It feels right to be on your knees in front of Solas._

That, too, she agrees with. It is the best position for what she wants to do, and she has never minded that --

_It feels right to be subservient._

She has never thought of it that way before.

_To tend to Solas’ needs before your own._

Of course she has always wanted to ensure Solas’ pleasure, why wouldn’t she? But before her own …?

“Helplessly aroused,” Solas murmurs, placing a hand atop her head, gently encouraging her to take more of him. “Helplessly lost in me.”

Her arousal grows hotter and she is losing herself in the motions, in the bobbing of her head, the hot thick feel of him inside her mouth, his hand on top of her head…

_You want to please him._

_You desire him above all others._

Shaeri can readily agree with those statements. She has always sought to please him, always felt a burning desire for him that outstrips all others.

_You love and worship only him._

Worship. Not a word that …

“Helplessly aroused. Open. Receptive. Enjoying the feelings, all these sensations…”

Shaeri moans and feels the edges of her mind blur away, desire threatening to overcome her completely. The words. She has to get the words back. Has to acknowledge the truth of them. It will make her feel good, it will make her …

_You love and worship only him._

Worship _is_ the right word, the only one that can adequately express her feelings for this man, this man that loves her so much, that she loves in return. Worship is the word to describe what she is doing now, showing her devotion the best way she knows how, by giving him pleasure, so much pleasure…

Solas moans and jerks his hips forward, and she lets everything else fall away in the pleasure of him fucking her mouth. She swallows him down, as she has always done, stays where she is until he has completely finished. His fingers continue to run through her hair, occasionally dipping down to caress her face.

Shaeri feels so good, so relaxed. So …

_Open to me_.

Shaeri moans, and realizes that she has not yet climaxed herself. She was so close there, and under other circumstances she would have -- and the moment of tranquility that came from pleasing her lover fades, allowing her passion to return. She knows that if she opens herself to him, it will end with her moaning and writhing on the ground in pure pleasure. She is not sure how she knows this, but she does.

And so she lets him in -- the man she loves, the man she trusts. She opens herself up and feels a wave of approval radiate outwards from him.

“Listen and remember,” he says. There are three names that are attached to him, and the one that feels the most right is the one that she cannot bring to the forefront of her mind. “Listen to these words. Repeat them. Feel the truth of them sinking in as you say them.”

He pulls back from her, uses the edge of his tunic to wipe her mouth. He bends down to place a hand underneath her chin, tilting it up so that she is gazing into his eyes.

“I am Fen’Harel, your Master.”

“You are Fen’Harel. You are my Master,” Shaeri repeats obediently. _Master._  That is the word that she was trying to fight. Now that she has said it aloud, she wonders why she fought it, when saying it makes her feel so good.

“You serve and worship only me.”

“I serve and worship only you.” That would explain why it feels right to be on her knees in front of him.

“Good, vhenan,” Master says, and she feels her arousal spike hot inside her. She moans, tries to move her hands to touch herself, only to find that she cannot. “The more aroused you are, the more open … the stronger your desire to obey…”

Obey. Yes. That is what she is doing. She repeats the words he gives her, the words that fill her from head to toe.

“Fen’Harel owns me. Fen’Harel controls me.” The ties that he has placed around her constrict, the connection strengthens.

“I want to be owned. I want to be controlled.” Yes. Because that is what he is doing to her, and the more he commands her, the more she wants to obey. Her mouth hangs open as she stares into his eyes, her full and rapt attention on him. Her arousal is a consistent bonfire in the background, fueling her need to please him. _Want him. So horny. Want to be fucked._

“Very soon, vhenan,” he promises. “You live only to serve me, only to do my will.”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Live -- only to serve -- to do your will --"

Her Master drops to his knees. “Keep focusing on my eyes,” he instructs her as he reaches out to touch her breasts. Shaeri gasps again, fights the desire to moan and lose herself in this sensation. “You love me. You love my power and glory and wish only to worship and obey me.”

Shaeri moans, breathing heavily, and somehow forces the words out, when her entire self is desperately straining for release.

Master drops one of his hands to hers, and gently guides it to his cock, which is fully erect once more. “I love you,” he says, almost tenderly. “I love and prize you above all others for being my devoted slave.”

_Fen’Harel loves me. Fen’Harel prizes me above all others for being his devoted slave._  Shaeri has to think it, because her mouth is not working, and she barely finishes the thought before Master has her pinned to the ground, his arms holding her in place as he slides into her. Shaeri’s mind goes completely blank, her world shrinking to the absolute ecstasy she feels in that single motion. She has given herself to him and is receiving this as a reward. She clutches his back, presses herself against him, moves almost frantically so that she can feel his hard cock inside her…

“Those words will stay with you. They are your litany,” Master tells her. “Whenever you say them aloud or in your head, they become stronger -- they reinforce my hold over you.”

“Yes,” Shaeri says, part agreement, part encouragement, because she needs him to keep fucking her.

“Whenever you do anything that threatens to draw you away from me, you will be compelled to say them, and they will bring you back to me.”

“Yes,” Shaeri repeats, still frantically moving against him.

“Very good,” he says, and then he makes her mind go blank once more as he takes control of the situation, drawing himself out slightly so he can slide home once more. Shaeri’s hands dig deeper into his skin. She is only partially conscious of the words spilling out of her mouth, of how earnestly she begs him to continue. It is not just the way he makes her body feel, it is the way the words he gave her have affected her mind. She basks in his power -- the power he has over her, the power he has to do such delightful things to her. She will gladly worship and obey him for this sensation, for the privilege of being fucked by Fen’Harel.

* * *

Shaeri cannot make herself focus on the words anymore.

She knows she has written more about this day but the feelings evoked by what she has read thus far have overtaken her. She remembers that sensation, that utter delight she felt as he planted her litany in her mind. She has said those words aloud countless times since coming here, and it has always worked exactly as he said it would.

The words rise to the front of her mind now, but they are not right for what she feels. She has done nothing today that would pull herself away from him. What she wants now is to feel closer to him. She wants him to appear in her rooms, to feel the compulsion to kneel before him and worship his power and glory. Or perhaps she would not need the compulsion…

Her hands move across her breasts as she closes her eyes. “Master,” she says aloud. “Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf -- my Master -- your slave needs you. Needs you to control her. Needs to serve you, to experience the pleasure that comes from serving you …”

Magic sizzles the air around her, and then he is there. She feels his presence without opening her eyes. The book is left in the chair as she opens her eyes and falls to her knees in front of him. “You came,” she says, wonder in her voice. “You came to me.”

“How could I resist, when you asked so nicely?” Master replies. He lifts her up and takes her into his arms, kissing her. Shaeri whimpers and wraps her arms around him.

“Your devotion arouses me so,” he whispers against her neck, kissing it gently. He pulls back slightly to remove her flimsy dress and then takes one of his nipples in her mouth.

Shaeri puts her hands on his shoulders and begins to breathe heavily as his tongue flicks, teasing, before he sucks deeply on her nipple. “I worship and obey you, Master,” she breathes. “I love you -- love your power and glory, love the control you have over me --"

Fen’Harel - that name seems more appropriate, suddenly -- growls and picks her up in his arms, throws her down on the bed. “Continue,” he says, before he slides himself inside her. It is a request, not an order -- but she does not think on what that means.

“I belong to you,” Shaeri says. The words start coming out in short gasps, in between his strokes -- in between feeling his hard shaft moving against her soft spots, her sensitive areas -- “I am owned. Controlled.” She lifts her head up to kiss the side of his neck. “I love being your slave. I always wanted to be your slave.”

Fen’Harel loses control.

Such a simple statement for what actually happens. Shaeri feels her body fill with his magic, but it is not pushing her to do anything in particular -- it is simply _there_ , burning and mixing with the pleasure that he is evoking in her. She is lost in the magic, feels it consuming parts of her that she has never allowed him to reach before -- but she is so open to him, her desire to please so strong that it breaks down certain barriers that she was not consciously aware she was holding up.

Shaeri feels his triumph along with that magic, how much he delights in what she is doing - and there are too many things happening inside of her, the sensations mixing, filling her with something -- else --

Shaeri Trevelyan lets herself be washed away by Fen'Harel's power, not caring what might happen afterwards.


	7. Chapter 7

Twenty-one fighters enter the Eluvians on a bright morning, with the mission of finding Inquisitor Shaeri Trevelyan and rescuing her from Solas’ clutches. Each one of them had volunteered for this, some of them even protesting loudly at the thought of being left behind. The party consists of all of Shaeri’s former companions still remaining at Skyhold, Bull’s Chargers, Isabela and three of the other fighters she had been working with - 

And Merrill. Cullen had insisted that they wait for her, after what that spirit had said. They were venturing into Solas’ territory and any extra knowledge of the Eluvians might mean the difference between life and death.

Cullen and Cole take the lead and are greeted by one of the Archivists, a spirit that seems to recognize Cole. The spirit points them in the direction of another Eluvian, and they follow the path through it. 

The fifth Archivist they meet tells them that there are fighters on the other side of the mirror ahead. They take a few minutes, come up with a plan. Bull’s Chargers will lead - they are most used to working together and charging into unpredictable circumstances. The mages - Dorian, Morrigan, and Merrill - will go in second, with Cullen, Cassandra, and Thom Rainier to support them. Cole, Sera, Isabela, Varric and the rest will bring up the rear.

It seems an eternity until it is Cullen’s turn to go through. He walks through into a melee as great as the one at Adamant Fortress. Bull’s Chargers are holding back the press of defenders, so Cullen waits for Cassandra and Rainier to come through before he brings up his shield. The three of them fall in next to each other, forming a shield wall. Behind them, the mages come through and Cullen feels the unmistakable tingle of magic being cast. He hasn't taken lyrium for over two years, but some things are inescapable. Arrows thud into Cullen’s shield, but he holds fast. He knows that the three of them are stronger if they keep together.

"Curly! Incoming!"

Varric's shout gives Cullen enough warning to parry the blade of a sword-wielding elf who had appeared as though out of nowhere. Cullen growls, a feral sound, as he cuts the enemy down. He sees others pelting towards him, and fears that they have not brought enough people. The discussions at Skyhold had gone back and forth many times - a smaller group can move faster; a larger group is more likely to hold against a similarly large number of enemies. He is afraid that they made the wrong decision, but there is no changing it now. All he can do is hold the line, give the mages space to work their large-scale spells, give the rogues a chance to find the weak spots of their enemies.

But these are the best fighters that Skyhold has to offer. The battle-tested ones who fought besides the Inquisitor and never flinched. Who battled demons, darkspawn, even _dragons_. If anyone can accomplish this impossible task, it is Cullen's companions, and he feels pride at being able to call them his friends.

"What are you lot waiting for?" Sera asks, flashing a grin before putting an arrow through a fighter's chest. "We're pushing 'em back. Let's get Inqy and get out of here, yeah?"

Cullen exchanges a glance with Cassandra. She nods, and then cries "Forward!" 

They move. The fighters keep coming, but the Inquisition's forces push them back. Cullen starts to think that they can actually do this.

And then, out of nowhere, Cole speaks. “She comes." His voice is odd, distant, and it makes Cullen stop and look at the boy, ignoring the shouts from Cassandra and Rainier. “She comes. The Deliverer of Justice. The Great Protector. The …”

Everyone else has halted now, allies and enemies alike. There is a blaze in the distance, one that turns into a flare of light as two figures step forward from it. The light fades, and the figures are visible.

One is Solas, far more proud and confident than Cullen has ever seen him. He has what looks like a pelt of some kind flung over his shoulder. His ears seem longer, his facial features sharper and somehow more elven than before.

The other is -

_No._

She stands besides him, her head held high, her long black hair flung out behind her and rippling in the breeze that their arrival created. She is wearing an elegant slate grey dress, the muted color in stark contrast to her glowing russet brown skin. The glow seems to be coming from within her, which has to be an illusion. She is as beautiful as the day he first met her, and his heart twists in pain, because she - Shaeri Trevelyan, the Inquisitor, his beloved - looks as proud and confident as Solas. Whatever hold he had on her - the same hold that allowed him to take her from Halamshiral - it appears to be firmly in place.

Cullen cannot stop staring at her. The sounds of battle around him start to fade into the background, becoming unimportant. He came here for Shaeri, and there she is. He can get to her. Cullen takes a step forward.

"Curly, what are you doing?"

Cullen shrugs off the arm that tried to grab him. The words mean nothing. Shaeri is all that matters.

“Her mind is not her own." Another voice, lighter, younger. "She will - she will do the same to us."

"Oh, shit. Curly, snap out of it. We have to get out of here."

"She reached him first."

A sigh. "Of course she did. Kid - we have to run. Now."

Footsteps that only last a few seconds. The run the lower voice mentioned was cut short. Shaeri seems to glow even brighter than before, radiant, and Cullen's pace quickens. He has to get to her.

“That’s right,” Shaeri says, speaking directly to him. Her voice is somehow deeper, more powerful than it was before, and it sends a shiver running up his spine. “Come to me, Cullen. Come, my friends, my trusted allies - come and join us. We gathered together to change the world, to make things better - and that is what Fen’Harel plans. That is what I will help him achieve. Join us, and we will be that much greater.”

She has articulated his heart's desire. He never was very good at resisting her when she wanted something - when she wanted him. Cullen is suddenly reminded of all their time together, how good she has always been able to make him feel. He breaks into a run, heedless of the people ahead of him. Nothing in his life has ever been as important as this moment, closing that distance between them.

Cullen reaches her side. He is dimly aware that she has called the others to her as well, but he is proud to be the first one. It is only right, given how much he loves her. He feels joy spreading through him as she touches his cheek tenderly. Cullen smiles stupidly at her, his world contracting to this woman, this beautiful and powerful woman that wants him.

Shaeri leans in and kisses him. He is too excited, too eager to respond to give proper consideration to what else happens in that moment - a sliver of white-hot magic entering his body.

_You love and worship me..._

* * *

Time seems to slow for Merrill. The chaos that had surrounded her until moments ago has vanished, allies and enemies alike frozen by the appearance of the Inquisitor at the side of the Dread Wolf. The elven forces are kneeling to pay homage to their leader, which should make them vulnerable for Merrill to strike. 

But she does not, because her attention has turned to the greater threat. She sees them start to move forward - Cullen first, despite shouts and attempts to stop him. When he starts to run, Merrill sees the faces of her companions change, Trevelyan's magic spreading over them like a wave. Seeker Pentaghast starts forward, then Isabela and her three companions.

Inquisitor Trevelyan will take them all. Merrill knows it for truth - or maybe she just fears it, enough to act to protect the one person she cares about the most. She looks around and spots Varric. She shouts his name and starts moving. The movement feels wrong. Her body wants to turn and go the other way, towards Cullen and Isabela, towards Trevelyan. She pushes the creeping sensation away, or tries to. The best she can do, as she runs towards where she last saw the dwarf, is to keep it from advancing too far on her.

Suddenly Merrill collides with someone else, and he instinctively catches her to keep her from falling to the ground. When he has steadied her, one of his hands is still clasped around her wrist. It is decidedly unnerving, because the man - she places him as Thom Rainier, after a minute - is fully caught up in Trevelyan’s siren song, and Merrill can hear/feel it through the physical contact.

Merrill’s knife slides free from the sheath in her sleeve, where it always is - the action as much instinct as anything else, sliding past her conscious mind and remaining separate from that outside influence that frightens Merrill. The sharp pain of the knife cutting into her palm brings her back to herself and allows her to use her own unique magic. Varric had made her promise that she wouldn’t use blood magic today. He had whined at her so long and so convincingly that she had to promise despite not really agreeing with him. 

She doesn’t think Varric will mind now, if it saves them from being taken by Fen’Harel.

Merrill looks at Rainier, still holding onto her wrist, and an idea pops into her head. She might be able to save him. And better to try this out on someone that she doesn’t know as well, right? She refuses to admit that might be a terrible thought to have and reaches out to Rainier with her magic. She lets it flow into him through his hand. She tries to push back the foreign presence she feels within him. She has never been that good at this sort of magic, trying to affect other people, but perhaps desperation and blood will be enough.

Rainier’s gaze seems to focus on her, eyes widening as he takes a step backwards. “Maker’s _breath_ , but that’s some powerful magic. I felt her … I knew they weren’t my thoughts or feelings, but I didn’t care, I just wanted …” He takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Merrill smiles at him. “Oh, I’m glad. I wasn’t sure it would work.”

“I think I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He looks around. “What do we do now? Can you free the others in the same way?”

“I’m going to try,” Merrill says. “Starting with Varric.” She starts running to cover the short distance between herself and her best dwarf friend. 

“Well, dwarves are resistant to magic,” Rainier says, running after her.

It isn’t until she gets to Varric’s side that she realizes the strange boy Cole is there too, frozen in place and mouthing words to himself. Varric is taking halting steps forward. Rainier moves as though to grab Varric. 

“No!” Merrill barks, more sharply than she had intended.

Rainier turns to look at her and the look of hurt on his face is somewhat perplexing, but Merrill has no time to wonder why he feels that way. “I don’t want you to have to fight it again,” she says.

“Ah.” Rainier nods, and takes a step back, as though that will make a difference.

Merrill closes the small gap between herself and Varric. Ahead, she can see the others moving, some of them almost to the Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf. They are moving through the elves, some of whom are also moving towards their leaders - and some of whom seem to be trying to shake off the influence, as Varric and Cole are. Merrill feels her stomach clench and wonders how much time they will have before they are attacked. But she cannot think of that now.

She grabs Varric’s arm and reaches for him with her magic, trying to remember what she did with Rainier. Varric’s body feels different, denser, as though both her magic and Trevelyan’s has to work harder to reach its goal. But Merrill persists, feeling sweat start to bead on her forehead, because she will not let Trevelyan take Varric. She knows she can do this.

“Gah!” Varric shouts, breaking free of Merrill’s hold and grabbing his head with both hands. Merrill blinks, and Rainier puts an arm around her back to steady her. She gives him a grateful smile.

Varric begins to curse violently, running through every oath Merrill has ever heard him use - and some that are completely new. She ignores him and shrugs off Rainier’s arm so that she can go to Cole’s side. The strange blonde boy is muttering to himself. “ … don’t want to, please don’t make me do this, it isn’t helping, you said you were going to help people, you _promised_ …”

Merrill touches him as she did the others, and has to stop herself from pulling her hand back. Cole’s inner self feels hot and cold all at once, sharp prickling sensations traveling up her hand. Merrill takes a deep breath and tries to focus. Cole is actively resisting more than either Rainier or Varric, but Merrill can’t tell how effective that resistance is.

Then she hears Cole’s voice. _Merrill. You’re helping me._

_I am,_ she tries to think back at him. This is all very _weird._  

She feels Cole reach out to her, actively seeking her presence as a way to combat Trevelyan’s. Merrill draws on the power in her blood to separate Cole from Trevelyan’s magic. With his active aid, she manages the deed, and removes her hand to avoid exhausting herself too much. Once again, Rainier is there with an arm to support her, Varric besides him looking concerned. 

“Can you free them all?” Cole asks. “Can you stop this?”

“I do not think we have the time,” a new voice says. They all turn to see Morrigan there, the dark-haired apostate looking as concerned as Varric. “Fen’Harel’s forces are beginning to regroup. Moreover, we must assume that the Inquisitor or Fen’Harel will notice what we are doing and redouble their efforts.”

“I think I can manage one more,” Merrill says. She has not been a blood mage all these years without knowing how far she can push herself. 

“I would suggest that you make the attempt with the Iron Bull,” Morrigan says. “When I passed him, he was also muttering to himself and moving slowly.”

“Why are they moving so slowly?” Rainier asks. “Shouldn’t they be running, like Cullen?”

“From what I experienced before I resisted her efforts,” Morrigan says - and though her words are calm, Merrill can see that she is unsettled - “The magic overwhelms the mind and makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else. This, apparently, includes movement.” She pauses. "As for the Commander - all Skyhold knows of the bond between them. I would imagine that the desire to be reunited with his lover was too strong."

“We can debate the semantics of this magic earlier," Rainier says, his voice taut. "We need to get out of here as soon as we can. If Merrill is going to free Bull, we'll have to cover her and be prepared to make a run for it."

“At least he’s easy to find,” Varric says, and points towards where the large Qunari is taking slow steps forward, muttering to himself as Morrigan had said.

Merrill walks as fast as she can manage and touches the Iron Bull. This time, she knows exactly what she is doing, and it takes much less time for her to free him.

“Rrrrragh!” Bull says when she is done, shaking his entire body like a wet mabari. “ _Dammit,_ boss. You know I hate that crap. Demons and voices in my head …" He lets out an indignant huff, reinforcing the mabari imagery. "I’m going to take that elf bastard apart. Piece by piece.”

“Get in line,” Varric says dryly.

“This, too, must be continued later. We are out of time,” Morrigan says. They turn to see a contingent of the Dread Wolf’s forces running towards them, and an arrow flies over Varric’s head. 

“Bull, carry Merrill,” Rainier says. “She’s exhausted herself freeing us.”

Merrill wants to protest - she doesn't like people making that type of decision  _for_ her - but he has the right of it. She doesn't think she could make it out on her own.

“We have to go get them!” Bull shouts. “Dorian, the Chargers - I can’t just _leave_ them there. To _that_.” He glares at the Dread Wolf, as though his glare alone could strike him down.

“Would you rather suffer their fate?” Morrigan asks sharply. “We will be attacked shortly. We were holding our own before, but two thirds of our allies are worse than useless right now. Merrill does not have the strength to free you a second time. If you attempt to save them, we will leave you and escape ourselves.”

“I hate it just as much as you do,” Varric says. “But - she’s right, Tiny. We save ourselves now, and - and hope that there’s a later.”

The Iron Bull swears in Qunlat, takes a long look at his Chargers, and then picks Merrill up easily before breaking into a run.

“She is trying more conventional magic,” Morrigan warns, and raises her staff, preparing to cast something. Rainier falls into a defensive stance besides her while Bull, Varric, and Cole keep running towards the Eluvian, and Merrill loses sight of what the other mage is doing.

A second later, even with her mana drained to almost nothing, she feels it. A mighty clash of two spells in the same spot. Merrill turns her head to look back and sees Rainier and Morrigan running from a massive storm. She does not know which mage cast which spell, but lightning is fighting with snow, two elemental forces struggling to control the same area. She sees wild arcs of electricity seeking a target, tinged blue from the swirling wind and snow around it. The storm begins to spread from its dark, fast-whirling core, gusts carrying snow and lightning both. The Iron Bull curses again and picks up the pace.

“What were you thinking?” Varric yells at Morrigan. “That could kill us as easily as them!”

"It was the only way to stop it. The storm is out of her control now."

“Oh, _that’s_ reassuring!”

“Can’t let them go, didn’t know this could be countered, we have to stop them.” Cole sounds far too calm for the current situation.

“Ahhh, nug shit,” Varric says. “Daisy! She’s going to try to take us again!”

That is all the warning Merrill has before Trevelyan's magic invades her mind. She feels an urge to drop from Bull’s arms and turn around, join the others, stop resisting this -

Merrill focuses on the pain in her hand instead as she begs the Creators for help. Surely they will help her against Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, the one that they all banded together against. She focuses on the familiar ache that her blood magic brings to her bones instead of the sweet song in her veins. Merrill knows what outside influence feels like. She knows how easy it would be to give in to temptation.

She has sworn not to let that happen ever again.

With the knowledge she has gained from freeing the others Merrill fights back, pushing Trevelyan’s creeping magic out of her mind and body. She bites her lip, tasting the blood, welcoming the fresh pain. It keeps her mind sharp and the magic at bay. 

“You first, Bull, and bind Merrill’s hand when you get to the other side,” Varric says. The Iron Bull notices her bleeding hand for the first time and growls, but once they have passed through the Eluvian he grabs a strip of cloth and begins to bind her wound.

Cole follows, then Varric, Rainier, and finally Morrigan. The other mage halts almost immediately, gasping, bent over - nearly as drained as Merrill. 

“Kid, get her out of the way,” Varric says, his voice cold. Cole helps Morrigan off to the side, and as soon as they are clear Varric fires a bolt at the Eluvian. The mirror shatters, pieces of glass falling to the side. Ordinary glass, now. Merrill knows, better than perhaps anyone else in the world, of the work that would be required to make it a gateway once more. They will have at least a few moments to breathe.

Varric sighs and walks over to Merrill, handing her a healing potion. Merrill drinks it down and feels warmth return to her. She has exhausted her mana, but with this, she can at least walk. “Thanks, Daisy,” he says softly. “For saving me.”

Merrill smiles. “You’re welcome, Varric. I couldn’t let her take you. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“We all owe you one,” Rainier says. “Without you - we’d all still be under the influence of that foul magic.“

“I might have been the only one to escape,” Morrigan says. “Or without the added distraction, they may have captured or killed me as well. It seems Commander Cullen was right to wait for you.”

“Why did he send for me?” Merrill asks. “Or, well, he had you do it, Varric, but that’s the same thing.”

Varric frowns. “It was something one of the spirits said to him, when they showed him the Inquisitor. He didn’t tell me any more than that.”

“Justice is sorry he couldn’t do any more,” Cole says sadly.

“… Justice?” Varric repeats. “ _That’s_  who told Cullen to send for Merrill?” He shakes his head as Merrill bows hers, feeling tears start to prickle at her eyes. “Dammit, Blondie, you had to go and do that, didn’t you? Now I _owe_ you one and can never repay it.”

“Another spirit?” Bull looks confused and angry.

Varric coughs. “Just … a friend of ours. He died in the early days of the mage rebellion.”

_On the first day,_  Merrill thinks. _Oh, Anders._

Varric helps Merrill to her feet. She takes a few deep breaths, still holding on to him, then takes a step on her own. “We need to go,” she says, her steely face daring the others to challenge her ability to walk unassisted.

“Yes,” Morrigan agrees. “There may be other ways to this part of the Crossroads that we do not know about. We must assume pursuit. We will not be safe until we are back at Skyhold.”

“We won’t be safe there anymore,” Rainier says. “We know more of Solas’ game now, which makes us even more of a danger than we were before. He knows Skyhold as well as we do. He’ll be coming for us there.”

“So where are we going to go?” Bull asks.

“We’ll figure that out later,” Merrill says. “We need to concentrate on getting out now.” 

When she starts walking, they all follow her.


	8. Chapter 8

The expedition’s survivors make it back to Skyhold well ahead of Solas’ forces, destroying each Eluvian they pass through. There is a group waiting for them in the courtyard, with Leliana and Josephine at its head. Merrill can remember them, at least, even if many of the others she met briefly are indistinguishable from one another. Their hopeful faces turn confused, and then alarmed, when they see how few of the original party remain.

“What has happened?” Josephine asks. “Where are the others?”

Varric shakes his head. “I only want to tell this once. We need to get everyone in the Great Hall.”

“Yes. Of course.” Josephine seems to recover the composure that Varric always said was one of her best traits. She turns and walks away briskly, starting to gather everyone.

“How soon must we leave Skyhold?” Leliana asks in a low voice.

“As soon as we can manage it,” Varric says with a sigh.

Leliana simply nods, and walks with their bedraggled group of survivors into the Great Hall. Josephine is efficient in assembling those remaining at Skyhold, and soon enough Varric is standing on a table and telling everyone what happened. He speaks with his usual storyteller’s flair, but his voice wavers at certain points. Merrill scans the crowd while he talks, noting how small the crowd is for such a large castle. The Inquisition was not without its flaws, but she knows how much good they did. She fears that the day’s events are the final blow to the Inquisition as an institution.

When Varric speaks about how Merrill freed them - about how she used blood magic - she sees a number of displeased faces in the crowd, including the Iron Bull. Merrill ignores the looks. They are nothing new. Besides, if she hadn’t done it, they wouldn’t _be_ here now.

“This is distressing news,” Leliana says when he is done. “You are right that we must leave Skyhold immediately. If we are to have any hope of resisting whatever Solas plans, we must not be anywhere that he can easily find and get to us.” She brings a hand up to her chin in thought. “That means remaining visible, so that there will be those who notice if we vanish or start acting oddly. That means staying together so that we can all keep an eye on each other. That narrows our list considerably.”

“And we must assume that nowhere in Orlais or Ferelden would be safe,” Josephine says. “Orlais, because we know that Briala is working for Solas. Ferelden, because they have no love for the Inquisition, even in a diminished state.”

“Our best bet would be somewhere in the Free Marches.” As soon as the words have left Leliana’s mouth she and Josephine both look at Varric.

Varric’s face turns concerned, as close to panic as Merrill has seen on him for quite some time. “Oh, no. Kirkwall has had enough of crazy outsiders for about the next hundred years.”

“No, Varric, it’s perfect,” Merrill says, unable to contain her excitement. Kirkwall. _Home_. She hasn’t felt safe going back there since the day Anders blew up the Chantry. She would have gone back if she’d heard the news about Varric becoming Viscount sooner, but that doesn’t matter now. “Josephine and Leliana and the others can join your staff, or maybe some of them can go work with Aveline, I know she would like to have more skilled fighters. We’ll have to tell her what’s going on, of course.”

“I feel I must agree with Varric’s concerns,” former Grand Enchanter Fiona says. She takes a step forward to join the main group, looking between Varric and Leliana. “After what happened with Meredith and Orsino, I am not sure that I and my followers would be welcome.”

“Where better to prove that free mages are no threat to ordinary people?” Leliana counters. “Varric’s allegiances are well-known, and he is still the most popular Viscount in over a century. Vivienne - excuse me, Divine Victoria - granted you a special dispensation to remain outside the Circles before the Exalted Council was over.”

“Well, I didn’t have much in the way of competition for popularity,” Varric protests.

“Can you offer a better alternative than Kirkwall?” Josephine asks. “Tevinter would not welcome us, not without Dorian Pavus to smooth the way. Antiva is full of spies and Crows.” She looks a little embarrassed at having said that about her own country. “There is nowhere else prominent enough where we have enough allies to be assured of a warm welcome. Kirkwall is the best choice, Varric.”

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric mutters. He sighs and brings his hand up to his forehead. “Bran will never let me hear the end of this.”

“If we do base ourselves out of Kirkwall, I will be able to increase the amount of money available to you for the rebuilding efforts,” Josephine says brightly.

“Oh yes, use money to appeal to the dwarf,” Varric snorts.

Merrill touches his arm. “It really won’t be that bad, Varric. Not with all of us to help you.”

Varric turns to look at her, shaking his head again. “You always did look on the bright side, Daisy,” he says and lets out a long sigh. “All right. I’m outvoted. My city is your city.”

Leliana’s face softens enough to allow a small smile. “Good. I will begin preparations immediately. Anything that cannot be carried on our backs must be left behind. Speed is of the essence, so we should plan to leave in the morning.” She taps a finger against her chin. “Although we will not all be leaving for Kirkwall. Morrigan must go to Denerim to warn King Alistair.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I ‘must’ do,” Morrigan says frostily.

Leliana sighs, shaking her head at the prickly mage. “Put aside your pride, Morrigan. Alistair must be warned, and it must be someone he will take seriously. I know you do not like him, but I also know that he will listen to you for Savella’s sake if no one else.”

Morrigan looks down. “I never deserved her friendship,” she says quietly.

“Yet she gave it to you anyways. I will inform her that it is time for her to return and assume her duties as Queen. And pray to Andraste that she is able to do so.” Leliana turns to look at Varric again. “You must persuade the Champion to return to Kirkwall.” Varric opens his mouth to protest, and Leliana’s gaze grows steely once more. “Think of what you saw in the Crossroads earlier today, Varric, and then tell me that the Champion is safer on her own.”

Varric’s gaze drops once more, and Merrill feels sorry for him. She knows that he wants to protect Stara Hawke. Merrill does, too. She also knows that Stara will listen to Varric, and that Leliana is right - their friend will be much safer when she rejoins them.

“She and Fenris were at Weisshaupt last I heard,” Varric says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Kirkwall,” Rainier says. “Haven’t done anything to piss them off. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

“I’ll try not to be too much of a scary Qunari,” Iron Bull says. “I remember what you people did to the previous Arishok.”

“Aveline will help,” Merrill says. “They hated her when she first got there, and now she’s Captain of the Guard!”

“I admit to looking forward to meeting Aveline Vallen,” Bull replies, looking thoughtful.

“She’s married, Tiny,” Varric says crossly. “And can whup your ass.”

“She can try,” Bull counters, grinning.

Varric shakes his head, and then he and Merrill are drawn into a discussion with Leliana and Josephine about Kirkwall - what they can expect, how they will get there, and a dozen other little things that Merrill would never have thought of on her own. But that is their job, and the discussion leaves Merrill feeling confident, although she still feels regret whenever she thinks back to Isabela and the others they left behind. What is happening to them now? Will there be another rescue attempt - a better one? If there is, it won’t be soon, which makes Merrill feel sad, even though she understands why. She agrees with everything that has been decided. They have to stop Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, and they will need a good base to recruit more people to help. Merrill will have to think of how to defend against Fen’Harel’s magic. Inquisitor Trevelyan might have wielded it, but Merrill has no doubt that it was Fen’Harel who gave her that power to use. And with the success she had earlier, this is something that Merrill can do that none of the others can. Merrill likes feeling useful, and despite the pall that the day’s events have cast over the future, she goes to bed feeling energized and hopeful.

* * *

Merrill is dreaming, even though it feels very real. In fact, the only reason that she knows she is dreaming is because the scenario is something would never happen in the waking world.

Warm hands caress her thighs, fingertips slowing as they reach her opening. Merrill can feel wetness building there, the deliberate and gentle fingers stoking her growing arousal. It has been a long time since she had another person’s hands to touch her and she wants to let this happen.

She is filled with a sudden conviction that her unseen partner also wants this, wants to do this to her without any expectation of reciprocity. And that is another piece of evidence that this is a dream, because how else could she be so sure of her partner’s feelings?

The fingers continue to touch her gently without ever delving inside. Merrill surrenders herself to this strange dream and the pleasure it brings her. When she lets out a low moan, the fingers vanish and are instantly replaced by a warm, wet tongue. Here, Merrill’s partner seems a bit more hesitant, as though this is an unfamiliar act - but if this is a dream, why should Merrill not imagine a skilled lover, one who is utterly perfect?

_It’s all right, Merrill. You don’t have to wake up._

The thought is clearer this time, more definitively coming from outside of Merrill’s mind, and it catapults her into wakefulness.

She is lying in the bed Varric had shown her to at Skyhold, a small but comfortable room, and there is a definite warm presence between her legs.

It was not a dream.

Merrill’s hands move to pull the covers back, and she is shocked to see the unruly blonde hair belonging to Cole. He lifts his head from between her legs and gazes at her with those unearthly blue eyes.

“Cole!” Merrill scrambles backwards, her back thudding into the wall behind her. Her heart is racing wildly as she tries to make sense of the situation.

“I wanted to do this,” Cole says, sounding almost sad. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

Merrill is usually the one with odd behavior, the one that needs concepts explained to her, and it feels very strange to be on the other end. “Usually, you _ask_ first. Or show your interest in ways other than - than - just _getting started_.”

Cole’s gaze is still firmly fixed on her. “It isn’t like that,” he says haltingly. “It isn’t - that I want to hold your hand in public, or go on dates. I might still bring you daisies, because they have always been your favorite, even before you met Varric, and they make you smile. I just … I want to do this for you. To touch you. To make you gasp, and moan…”

“No.” Merrill has shifted from confusion to concern. She knows exactly what Cole is, from what Varric has told her and from her own observations of him. “You’re a spirit of compassion. You shouldn’t … try to be anything more.”

“I’m not going to turn into a demon. It’s not that I want to feed off of your feelings and grow stronger from them. It isn’t like when the Warden went to the Circle Tower and found a templar living in a dream world. You’re still you and I’m still me. I just …want to do this for you.”

Merrill looks into his large, unblinking eyes and feels a strange kind of warmth start to build inside her. “Why?”

“Because you made it so that I’m still me. Because you helped me.” Cole is still looking at her, almost unnaturally still in what should be an awkward position. “It’s new. I use the body but I don’t use it like the rest of you do. I eat and drink and sleep but the feelings are like … water. Except now they aren’t. For you, they aren’t.”

Could it be that simple? Could it really be that something about the day’s experience, about almost being captured by Trevelyan’s magic, turned some sort of switch for Cole - and this is his awkward way of expressing his gratitude in a new and different manner?

“Please, Merrill,” Cole says. “Let me do this.”

Creators, but she does want it. She can see how sincere his feelings are, and it does seem to fall within the range of _compassion_ rather than _desire_.

And it has been quite a long time …

“All right.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth Cole resumes his attentions with an eagerness he hadn’t displayed before. His hands run along the outsides of her legs as his tongue licks lightly at her entrance. Merrill moans, letting her head fall against the wall, and Cole makes a short sound of delight before his movements intensify. His tongue starts to dance, to move rapidly, as though he has to find every sensitive spot Merrill possesses as quickly as he can. Merrill grabs the thin bedposts for support as she arches her back, pressing herself against him. She _does_ want this, as odd as it had seemed a few moments ago. And Cole is so attentive, so eager to please -

Cole withdraws his mouth and Merrill feels disappointed, and guilty for feeling disappointed, because it’s probably better if he doesn’t actually follow through.

“I want to please you,” Cole says, and then Merrill feels his hard shaft, nudging right at her entrance. “I - _need_ to do this.”

Their joining is not smooth, and Merrill has to help him, and adjust, before he is lying flat against her, a very mortal cock pulsing inside her. Merrill clutches his back, arching upwards to meet him once more, feeling delighted that this time there is more resistance to his movements, something hard for her to push against. Cole gasps and rocks his hips upwards slightly. “Th-there?” he asks. “Tell me where, please Merrill…”

“Yes, there,” Merrill assures him, and Cole gives a soft whimper as his body falls into a rhythm. She can tell that he is lost to his feelings, and she is quite happy to surrender to her own and let their bodies take them to completion. Merrill feels Cole’s breath hot against her skin, the sweat that is building from their close proximity. She moans, and hears Cole give a strangled gasp in response, and then his seed is flooding her insides and Merrill lets out a satisfied sigh. She has not felt this good in a long time, and for a moment she can forget the strange circumstances that lead her here. For a moment, she is simply a woman lying with her lover, both of them utterly satisfied.

“Thank you,” Cole says quietly after another long moment of silence. “For letting me please you. Can - would you let me do this again, Merrill?”

“Not tonight,” Merrill replies. “But another day … yes, Cole. I enjoyed this.”

“I’m glad,” Cole replies, and then shifts himself off her. Only when the pressure of his body is gone does Merrill realize that it was becoming uncomfortable. There are some benefits to having a partner who can essentially read one’s mind, Merrill thinks. And she can feel Cole responding to that, feel his determination to learn and do even more for her.

Almost as though he is compelled to …

But that thought fails to completely register with Merrill as she falls asleep, with Cole pressed next to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from DAKM:
> 
> Prompt:  
> I am literal garbage, just throwing that out there. BUT.
> 
> I want an Inquisitor who drank from the Well of Sorrows forced to do Solas's bidding in his war against modern Thedas, like a puppet on a string. Like, he basically forces the Inquisitor to be his consort in the New World Order he's planning.
> 
> Not needed, but I would love it if:
> 
> * Inquisitor initially romanced or flirted with Solas, but then broke it off.  
> * After they broke it off, they romanced someone OTHER than Solas. Cullen, Blackwall or Bull would be awesome.  
> * Inquisitor really disagreed with Solas after Trespasser and would never do any of this stuff if in their right minds.  
> * Inquisitor's LI has to watch, at some point, the Inquisitor be this totally different person who doesn't even acknowledge them and is all about Solas and destroying the world. (ah, the beautiful angst)


End file.
